


Fighter

by marcoasensio



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluffy, Marco Asensio whump, Minor whump, No Slash, Very Minor, also it's late and i have a test tomorrow, also lucas and marco's relationship is to die for, i wrote this out of sheer sadness as you can tell, i'm still depressed from marco's injury, if there are any mistakes......... ignore them, protective sergio ramos, sergio is a good dad, so there's a lot of worried lucas, soft sergio, well just a lidl, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 23:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcoasensio/pseuds/marcoasensio
Summary: Aftermath of Marco’s ACL injury. Just a little one-shot, featuring worried teammates.





	Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting again in months!
> 
> So, like... I'm very saddened about Marco's injury. Nine months without him is going to be very dark, considering he's one of my favorite players. I wrote this out of sheer boredom and in a spur, so if a few mistakes are found, I don't mind having constructive criticism in my comments. 
> 
> I love to watch training montages, and what I notice is that Marco and Lucas are always together, 24/7. I figured they must be really close, and with the addition of Sergio, the captain, this one-shot focuses a lot on their friendship.
> 
> Furthermore, I watched and replayed the video of Marco being injured (which was painful) so many times in order to make it more realistic, but for it to fit with the story, I needed to make minor changes. But it shouldn't be too noticeable, I don't think.
> 
> Anyway, please, enjoy!

Luka heard the pop.

He was trying to win the ball back from the quick-legged Arsenal striker, who was in a duel with Marco close to the defensive line. Luka was close to yelling at Marco, commanding him to go back upfield because although he was listed as a wide midfielder, Zidane specifically instructed him to stay on the attack and either deliver crosses, or finish in style. However, he differed from doing so, thinking that the Spaniard had it under control. He’d always been great at duels after all.

But when he heard the ear-piercing pop coming from his teammate, he regretted his decision instantly. Luka himself had never been diagnosed with a torn ACL, but was briefed by the medical staff on the symptoms; and that pop right there– which was immediately followed by Marco on his knees, his left one in particular relinquishing– Luka was almost a hundred percent sure it was an anterior cruciate ligament tear.

Luka froze for a second on the field, doing nothing but staring at the Spaniard. It was when Sergio started yelling for the medics, accompanied by Marco’s pained wails, that Luka started moving towards him. His struts were in a slow, constant manner. He had never been that close to Marco personally, but he enjoyed the kid’s presence. Funny and mischievous, without being annoying. Like, a calmer version of Isco, who he spent more time with. He supposed there was something in him that didn’t want this injury to be true. Marco doesn’t start much, but Zidane sees him as an incredibly valuable player, and truthfully, so does Luka.

A couple of people were already swarming Marco as soon as Luka got there. A mix of navy blue and white, Luka felt slightly provoked that not a single red was seen in the scene. It bothered him, to think that none of those London assholes were thoughtful enough to check on him. Not even Mesut, who he knew once loved the club with his whole heart. Well, before the whole Mourinho fiasco.

Marco was laid on the rough grass, face scrunched up in pain and occasional cries faltering through. Odri was on his right, absent-mindedly holding on to Marco’s shoulder, while the medics tended his knee. Across the youngster was their captain. He was crouched down, both his arms engulfing Marco in a half-done hug– of course, it was unresponsive from Marco’s side. Luka heard words of comfort oozing from Sergio’s mouth as he gently stroked Marco’s shoulder, before standing up and letting the medics take over.

When the yellow stretcher neared, Marco was in hysterics, repeatedly hammering his hand on the ground. He was crying, but they all knew he wasn’t crying from the _physical_ pain. Although it must have hurt badly, Luka could never imagine the emotional career-threatening, season-ending possibilities rushing through Marco’s head right now. Sergio, who was talking to one of the medics, ducked back down immediately, comfortingly shushing Marco while grasping the kid’s free hand.

After watching them successfully, though with much struggle from Marco, load him on the stretcher, Luka turned to the closest person he could find, which happened to be Toni. The German was also peering over Marco, a worried look painted on him (though it still wasn’t as apparent as the look of concern on Sergio’s face). Luka knew for sure that Toni was much closer to Marco than he was, being in the same rondo group at all.

Though it was hard to find his voice at first, Luka finally spluttered out. “It was his ligament. I saw it, I wasn’t that far away.”

“Was it torn?” Toni asked, eyebrows furrowing in ponder.

Luka could only nod, as he found himself being distracted by the stretcher being carried off the field. He just hoped that the injury wouldn’t cause much turmoil in his future. Marco was only twenty-three, he had a good ten years left ahead of him. To be honest, Luka didn’t know what’s going to happen to Marco next– he just knew he was thankful for Zidane when he subbed him off at the same time, because if he were still on the pitch, Luka was sure he wouldn’t be able to play as well.

* * *

Worried faces and voice filled the unfamiliar locker room of the Washington-based stadium. Although most of them were gushing about Marco’s injury and conspiring about the purpose of the ambulance that came to pick him up, Lucas’ was the most notable.

The Spaniard was all up on Zidane’s face, which would have comical value due to the slight height difference if the situation wasn’t so difficult. Lucas’ face had worry and concern written all over it. The look on Sergio’s face was nothing compared to him. Luka remembered something about Sergio telling the group that Lucas’ older brother had warned him beforehand that Lucas might be a little… overbearing and absent-minded when worried. His mind couldn’t process information well, so in direct quote, ‘just treat him like a ten-year-old’. “Mister, what happened? Where’s he going? He’s okay, right? It was just a minor injury. I was far, but I think he just hurt his knee, slightly. I think he fell and… and grazed his knee, or whatever. But what was the ambulance doing? Did someone from the crowd faint? Dehydration, maybe, I know–”

“Luqui,” Sergio’s firm, but telling voice seemingly bringing the younger man back on the ground. Luka noticed the captain had retorted to his nickname, the one usually used when Sergio was on full big brother mode. He approached Lucas and Zidane, the latter appearing to be overwhelmed by Lucas’ questions. Sergio cupped Lucas’ shoulder, delicately forcing him to face the captain. “I know you’re worried. I’m not going to lie to you, kid, the injury doesn’t look good, okay? But Marco, he’s with the professionals already right now, and… and remember when _you_ got injured last season when we played Ajax?”

Lucas nodded, though his eyes still vacant-looking. “Yes.”

“They brought you to the hospital, and you were treated, right? It hurt and it took a long time, but you ended up being okay, right? You’re here right now, aren’t you?” Sergio said, his hands clutching Lucas’ shoulders tightly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s what’s going to happen to Marco,” Sergio explained, voice trailing slower than usual. “He’s going to need some time to heal, maybe longer than you and Dani, but he’s going to be okay in the end, buddy, I promise you. He’s a fighter, isn’t he?”

Once again, Lucas gave him an obtuse nod, which was responded to by Sergio’s tight, satisfied smile. Sergio instructed Lucas to sit down on the bench, the one in front of Marco’s locker if he had to. Lucas complied easily, taking easy steps and eventually plopping down. Sergio regarded him all the way, and when he was sure Lucas was settled, he directed his attention to Zidane.

“Any updates, boss?”

The Frenchman shook his head. “Unfortunately not. It’s too soon to tell. Maybe in a couple of hours, four or five.”

Sergio nodded, but it was an unsettled one. Zidane picked up on it– during his time at Real Madrid as an active footballer, he played for a season with Sergio. He knew him, well enough to know that antsy look.

“Sergio, as soon as I hear something I’ll tell you,” Zidane said. Sergio stayed silent, but Zidane’s eyes traveled to Lucas, who now had Nacho and Isco by his side. “The whole team needs to go back to the hotel, but you keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, like walk to whichever hospital Marco’s in and terrorize the poor nurses. You remember last season after Dani sustained that injury.”

* * *

Just as Zidane instructed him to do, Sergio was by Lucas’ side, even in his hotel room. Well, the room Lucas shared with Marco. They were extremely close, the both of them. Not inseparable, but it’s rare to see one without the other, especially in training. They were more like… brothers. And although by age Lucas was older, mentally he was fifteen so it was often that Marco acted like the bigger person.

“Sergio, is he really going to be okay?” Lucas asked, laying down on the bed, quite similarly to the way Marco laid on the grass. “Don’t lie to me, please.”

“He’s going to be alive, if that’s what you mean,” Sergio joked. However, when no laughter resounded, he sighed, returning to being serious… _er_ . “Contrary to what everyone thinks, I don’t have all the answers. But kid, this is a torn ligament, okay? It’s not like it was a heart attack or something. A lot of players experience it. He might… he _might_ miss out on the season but it’s not like his entire footballing career is over.”

“But he’s going to be able to walk and stuff?”

“With the physiotherapists we have, of course!” Sergio reassured him.

“But I don’t want him gone the whole season,” Lucas let a distressed whine. “He’s my friend, and we have a lot of fun in training. And we argue because he gets annoying sometimes, but he’s always nice and he backs down before a real fight surfaces. He makes me laugh too, and he’s the only one who understands me truly. I don’t want him gone next season.”

Sergio gulped, his heart slightly breaking inside his chest. “Luqui, there’s nothing we can do right now than to wish for the best, okay? Pray a lot, keep Marco in your prayers every night. Besides, you have Isco, Dani, Nacho during training. And me.”

“But they’re not Marco.”

Although Sergio felt kind of hurt by his statement, he let it slide, reminding himself it was _not_ the time to become offended, that Lucas was several breakdowns away from being catatonic, and that one of his teammates was in the hospital, potentially out for a whole season. It was difficult, though. “No, they’re not. You know what, just… just go to sleep, it’s late. We’re all going to visit Marco tomorrow in the hospital, he’s due for surgery in four days.”

This time, Lucas didn’t comply. He turned and looked at Sergio, straight in the eyes, his own brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I love you guys too. I’m just very worried about Marco right now, I can’t… I can’t think straight when I’m worried. I’m sorry.”

Sergio’s eyes softened. “No, I shouldn’t’ve… No, but Lucas, go to sleep, okay? Seriously, you’re exhausted. I’ll be here. Now and when you wake up. Okay?”

It took Lucas exactly three minutes and forty-eight seconds to fall asleep. It took Sergio four hours more, but when the sun began to rise, Sergio felt himself drifting off, the thought of Marco hanging on the back of his mind.

* * *

Upon arriving to the hospital, Sergio was just thankful they weren’t in Europe or South America or Asia. No one recognized them here in North America, and after daily fiascos of crazy fans back home, it was nice to have a break from all the fame.

Marco’s hospital room was huge, and also very, _very_ private. They were only allowed five to six visitors at a time, and after a short discussion, they decided that Marco’s closest friends should be the first ones in– and that composed of Sergio, Lucas, Isco, Nacho, Dani and Marcelo.

The recently-injured Marco was on the bed, looking pale and generally unhealthy. He had an IV to his left hand, and a bunch of heart monitors that soon began to blend in with the white noise. Marco’s left knee was bandaged, and elevated a few centimeters from the bed.

To summarize, he didn’t look good.

“Marco!” Lucas yelped, rushing to his friend’s bedside. Marco shot him a tired smile, and for the first time in _hours_ – which was highly unusual for someone as smiley as Lucas–, Sergio saw Lucas’ lips upturned. “I was so worried! Are you okay, dude?”

“Sure, it’s just–”

Lucas interrupted. “Good! You almost made me die of worry yesterday. Sergio doesn’t know, but I didn’t sleep a _wink_ last night. I was thinking about you! You scared me so badly! But you’re… you’re okay now, right?”

Marco let out a small chuckle. “Yes, Lucas, I’m okay. Now, get out of the way, I want to see the rest of the team too.”

They all messily walked forward, coming closer to Marco’s bed. Sergio was the first one to take the floor, having that dominant personality of his. “Marco, I swear to God, if you get into this kind of trouble again I will personally kill you with my own two hands.”

Grimacing, Marco replied, “I’ll try not to. This is just the beginning, I mean, I’m not even recovering yet, and I already don’t like it.”

“You’ll be okay, though,” Sergio said, attempting to dispel him. “I know you’ll pull through.”

“Thanks, Sergio.”

“I’m going to skip all the ‘are you okay’ parts because you’ve clearly answered that enough already,” Marcelo joked. “Anyway, Marquito… seriously, all the best for the surgery, okay?”

“Remember,” Isco butted in. “The journey of a thousand steps begins with a single mile.”

“Pretty sure it’s the journey of a thousand _miles_ begins with a single _step_ , buddy,” Nacho told Isco, the tone of his voice making him sound like a grown-up explaining things to a ten-year-old. “Your statement doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s not, and my sentence _does_ make sense,” Isco argued, being the hard head as usual. “It makes sense, because–”

“Shut up!” Dani raised his voice, earning bemused looks from everyone. “We’re here for Marco, not for your stupidity, Isco. Now, Marco, buddy, do you need anything?”

Marco shook his head, but his brown eyes darted down sadly. “I do want reassurance. I want to know that I will be okay, that I will walk out of this fine.”

“Marco, listen to me,” Marcelo caught his attention. “You’re going to be fine. Why? Because you’re you. Sure, you didn’t have a good reaction back at the pitch, and I can tell you’re probably embarrassed about that, but don’t. Who wouldn’t? People like Suarez, they’re the ones who should be embarrassed because they’re _divers_ . And you’re not, Marco. Well, for the most part you aren’t. You’re you, you scored a major fucking golazo on your debut competitive match. And that goal in the Copa del Rey. And Champions League final, semi-final, and quarter final. You have two Champions League titles and a league title, and you’ve been here three years. I’ve been here for twelve, that’s three times four, years and I only have double of the Champions League titles you have, and four La Liga titles. Capi right over there, same as me. You’re going to be _just_ fine because you’re you, and you’re going to pull through this. It’s not going to be easy and it will take a lot of dedication and hard work, and this season… well, I hate to tell the truth but this season is basically over for you. But I know you, and you’re going to look at this injury in the eye, and you’re going to spit out _fuck you_ in its face. You’re going to be just fucking fine because you’re Marco Asensio, and you’re a fucking fighter.”

The room was silent, the white noises more apparent than before. Marco stared at Marcelo in awe, tears pooling in his eyes. After taking a long sniff to clear out the mucus, Marco began to speak. “Did… did you practice that?”

“Last night,” Marcelo shrugged, unashamed. “And I watched like, two hour’s worth of your ‘Best Skills and Goals Compilation’ videos.”

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that.
> 
> As you can tell, my writing gets gradually worse as it reaches the end because I wrote this from 7:30 PM to 11:00 PM and well,,,,, sleepiness came along the way. I'll probably wake up in the morning and have a little regret, but screw it, it's late.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please, if you're nice, leave a kudos. If you want a prosperous life, provide some feedback! :D


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